PS I love you
by BlueDream1
Summary: After her return to LA, Kate has to learn to live with memories Jack has left behind. And, to do so, she will get help from the most unexpected source...


**Pairing:** Jack and Kate, with apparitions of Sawyer, Claire, Aaron, Hurley, etc.

**Rating:** T

**Warning:** Spoilers for The End/the novel _P.S.I love you_.

**Author´s Note:** Ever since I read this book, I wanted to write a Jate fic based on it. And, after the amazingness (yeah, I know it´s not a word :p) of THE finale, the story practically writes itself.

**Disclaimer**: I don´t own Jack and Kate. If I did, that _Jack & Kate Plus 8_ spin off Foxy joked about would already be in motion. :p Another disclaimer, more important one, is that the inspiration for this fic was novel _P.S. I love you_ by Cecilia Ahern. In some parts, I used extracts from her novel, changing thing here and there, because they really fit Jate´s post-island story, from Kate´s POV. Whenever I did that, I tried to mark it somehow, so that it doesn´t appear that those were my lines – that´s why those ** signs are there – the parts between them are Cecilia Ahern´s words, not mine (with slight modifications, to fit Jate better.) So, once again, I do not own those parts.

...

**Chapter 1**

*Kate held the blue shirt to her face and the familiar scent immediately struck her, an overwhelming grief knotting her stomach and pulling at her heart. Pins and needles ran up the back of her neck and a lump in her throat threatened to choke her. Apart from the low hum of the fridge and the dull ticking of the clock, the house was quiet. _She was alone_. Panic took over.*

_´So I just made a choice. I'd let the fear in, let it take over, let it do its thing, but only for 5 seconds, that's all I was going to give it.´,_ his strong, soothing words echoed in her mind. So she did precisely that.

˝O-one…t-two…three…four…five.˝ she closed her eyes and counted, feeling strength growing inside of her with every whispered number. Not the strength to get over. _No_. The strength to face the reality.

_*Jack was gone and he would never come back._ That was the reality. _She would never run her fingers through his soft hair again, never share a secret glance with him across the beach full of other people, never cry nestled in the crook of his neck; she would never share a bed with him again, never be woken by the gentle touch of his hand on her back, never giggle like a school girl at his lame attempt of a joke, never fight with him about her doing something dangerous._ All that was left was a bundle of memories, and an image of his face that became more and more painful each day.

_Her plan had been very simple: to stay with him for the rest of her life. To marry him, raise Aaron with him, have more babies with him. To grow old with him. A plan that anyone within their circle would agree was accomplishable. They were best friends, lovers and soul mates, destined to be together. But as it happened, the island had other plans._*

She closed her eyes and found herself back on that cliff again, the scent of salt in the air, the sound of the waves crashing against the ruthless rocks, the first of many tears escaping her eye and finding its way down her cheek as she watched him tell her she had to leave.

˝Tell me I´m gonna see you again. ˝she heard herself pleading, knowing already _then_ that it was pointless, that the island had other plans for him, that she couldn't change his mind and yet still having to try, _needing_ to try, for she could not imagine the life without him. She remembered staring at him, her eyes begging for at least _some_ trace of hope, but his mouth stayed speechless. His mouth did, but his eyes didn´t. His eyes were digging into hers the whole time, trying to convey everything he was feeling for her. Trying to make her understand. He couldn't lie to her. Not about that. He couldn't give her false hope, not even to comfort her; for the comfort would be short lived and the pain left afterwards would be even harder to deal with. And he didn't want to break her. More than he had already broken her, that was. So he stayed silent. And she understood.

The kiss was sad and desperate. Short and eternal. Salt and sweet. Needy. She was drowning and he was air. He was famished and she was food. They feasted upon each other, their tongues locked in an everlasting embrace. The kiss of goodbye. Silent. Soft. Passionate. Wet from tears. And, beyond anything, _intimate_. The lifetime of memories enclosed into it. Of standard blacks and counting to 5s. First disagreements and second chances. Slings and showers. Of beach talks and fireside dinners. Guava seeds and passion fruits. Nets and golf tournaments. Of treks and hugs. Glasses and walkie-talkies. Stolen glances and meaningful looks. Of broken hearts and sweet reunions. Bedtime stories and messed up sheets. _I love you-_s and _I´ve got your back_s. Of tears and smiles. But, most importantly, of _Love_. All poured and sealed into that last kiss, to never be forgotten.

They clung to each other for dear life. Body to body, mouth to mouth, heart to heart. Her forehead lingering against his for a moment longer, after all was done, wanting to savor it, wanting to make it last more, wanting to freeze the time and stay locked in that moment forever, to never know goodbye. But life is not always about what we want. And the call of destiny has a will of its own.

˝I love you. ˝she blurted out as soon as their heads pulled away, trapped between two motives she could not entirely separate or tell which one prevailed: the last, desperate attempt to make him leave the island and choose _her_ and the need to leave him with it – the knowledge that she loved him. Always had had and always would. The little smile he gave at hearing her words nearly killed her. The first piece of domino that started it all. The heartbreak. ˝I love _you_. ˝he whispered, his eyes fixed upon hers, the emphasis not going unnoticed by her. He loved _her_. _Her_. His way of letting her know that, even though at surface it might seem he was choosing the island, his first and only choice was her. He might be staying on the island, but he was leaving the most important part of him with her. _His heart._

And as the Ajira plane took off later, climbing higher and higher in the air and more and more away from the island, she knew the same could be said for her. She might be leaving the island, but her heart was staying on it. _Forever_.

*She drifted from room to room while she sobbed fat, salty tears. Her eyes were red and sore, and there seemed to be no end to this night. None of the rooms in the house provided her solace – just unwelcoming silence and thousands of memories as she stared around at the furniture.* There was front door, _and she still remembered opening it to find him standing there, a pot with guava plant in his hands, his smile uncertain, wondering if she would let him in, having changed his mind about Aaron_. The porch, _with the sling they used to sit in, making out and chatting till early hours or just sitting there, embraced, watching stars and sipping on a glass of wine_. The kitchen, _preserving the images of so many coffee and pancakes mornings, messy walls and stolen kisses_. The bathroom and the _sweet, long making out as the water sprayed upon them_. The living room and their first Christmas together, _Jack appearing with a branch of mistletoe and insisting he had just borrowed it and not stolen it from blissfully unaware Mrs Norris from next door, the first of many kisses that followed, Jack lifting two-year old Aaron up so he could put on the Christmas star_…The stairs_, where they had made wild, passionate love the first night they had the house all for themselves, Sun offering to babysit Aaron; starting to make out in the living room and being too worked up to manage to take it upstairs_.

Holding tight to the railway, she made her way up the stairs. Passing the room Aaron usually slept it – she would _not_ open that room, for the memories of him reading to the boy were still too painful to visit, she headed towards the only place that offered comfort.

Slowly, she opened the door. Pulling on his shirt – the blue shirt she had worn so many times during their life together – she climbed up on the bed. _Their bed._ With trembling hands, she managed to do the buttons; then lied down, curling herself on his side of the bed and hugging herself tight, imagining those were his arms around her as she buried her face in his pillow, the scent of him still very present. She closed her eyes, and, after what seemed like hours, finally cried herself to sleep, something she would do every night, since they had returned back ten days ago.

...

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So, what do you think? Is it worth continuing? I hate begging for reviews, but RL is quite hectic right now, with exams around the corner and all, and the feedback really _does_ wonders when it comes to inspiration and forcing yourself to somehow find the time to write. So please stop by and tell me what you think ;)


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